Poems (Coolidge)/The Father's Hand

by Helen Elizabeth Coolidge

THE FATHER'S HAND

I long to hold it—yet I grope  Along the narrow way; The flesh is weak—the spirit fails,  I cannot even pray.

I long to see it—yet the night  Enfolds my spirit still; So frail am I, how can I know  What is my Father's will.

I long—yet all the while to me  Outstretched is that dear hand; And all my utter helplessness  His love doth understand.

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I hold it—else had I been lost:  I see, though eyes be dim; Outstretched it is, and in the dark I still may lean on Him.